The conference hall inside the Ministry of Foreign Affairs building was packed.
Bright lights. Formal suits. Quiet murmurs. Cameras blinking red as the live feed rolled out across the nation.
Liang Yueru looked up from her notes one last time, fingers brushing the edge of the podium.
The press conference was live. Every major news channel, app, and social platform had their eyes on her.
She adjusted her stance and started.
"In accordance with the terms negotiated under Article VI, both nations have reaffirmed their mutual commitment to equitable water distribution along the Lanjiang River, effective immediately."
Her voice was steady and clear.
Every word was precise. She didn't glance at the rows of journalists or the blinking cameras. Her gaze remained forward, posture tall and poised.
She wore a white suit, simple yet sharply tailored. Her long, slightly wavy hair was left down, flowing past her waist like a silken curtain.
Behind her, the red and gold emblem of the Ministry stood firm under the ceiling lights, glowing faintly like a quiet flame of authority.
This wasn't her first press conference. Far from it.
But this treaty was monumental, the kind of document that could have tipped an already fragile balance into full diplomatic crisis.
It didn't. She had made sure of that.
She remembered telling a junior officer once, "Diplomacy is mostly keeping your cool. The rest is just making sure no one sees when you're not."
And right now, no one could.
She was the youngest person to ever pass the Foreign Services Exam.
Top of her class at the Academy. Now, the face of China's new generation of diplomats.
The reporters began pressing forward, voices overlapping before the speech had even fully ended.
"Miss Liang."
"Can you confirm the final clauses?"
"Will this impact the trade talks next quarter?"
She gave a small nod, then lifted her hand slightly.
"Questions will be taken after the official brief," she said.
Calm. Direct.
A small laugh came through her earpiece. The press coordinator. He always enjoyed how she could shut down a room without ever raising her voice.
Just then, she glanced toward the glass-paneled doors at the back of the hall.
There. A figure.
Tall. Still. Familiar in a way that tugged at the back of her mind, like the echo of a forgotten name.
She blinked.
Gone.
Just a Ministry aide walking past with a tablet.
She looked back at her notes.
Seven years. It's been seven years. I probably imagined it.
Another question came.
"Madam Liang, will there be regional observers involved in the oversight process?"
"Was there any last-minute change in the wording?"
She stepped forward and adjusted the mic.
"Final documents will be released to the media by 6 p.m. today," she said. "Both parties signed the negotiated terms. There were no changes made in the final stage."
Everything in her delivery was sharp and controlled.
Whoever she thought she saw didn't matter.
She moved on to the next question.
After the briefing, Liang Yueru stepped out of the conference room. Her assistant, Wei Xinyu, followed closely behind, glancing at his phone as they entered the corridor.
Her footsteps slowed.
Once in the hallway, her eyes began to shift restlessly.
She wasn't sure if her eyes were actually seeing things, or if her mind had simply played a trick on her.
That face.
That stillness.
That presence; too specific to mistake.
Over the past seven years, she had seen him. Not in person, but on television.
He had changed.
Not dramatically, but enough. His hair shorter now. His voice deeper, more grounded. Often seen giving security briefings. Occasionally, speaking about national defense, with the country's flag behind him and a calm that had once belonged to her.
But never in person. Not once since the breakup.
There were times when the thought crept in; what would it be like, meeting face to face again?
But whenever that idea wandered into her mind, it didn't take long before other memories came charging in.
Memories of why they ended. Why she walked away.
They did brought nostalgia but also anger.
She clenched her fingers slightly, pushing the thoughts aside.
Then, she heard her assistant speak.
"There's a small party going on in the Ministry's garden, ma'am," he said, eyes still on his phone. "You were invited earlier, but since you were overseas, you declined. Now that we're already here…"
She didn't respond immediately.
Her body was tired. Not the kind of tired that sleep could fix. It was the kind that settled in the bones, slow and quiet.
She had landed in Beijing early that morning and come straight to the Ministry. No time to think. No pause for breath.
Technically, Xinyu was right.
It might be easier to show up for a few minutes than explain later why she didn't.
She let out a long, slow sigh. Her voice came soft.
"Fine. Ten minutes."
Xinyu perked up, already typing something quickly on his phone.
"Should I tell protocol you'll arrive shortly? They'll have someone from the cabinet waiting to greet you."
"Tell them I'm walking through," she replied. "No speeches. No press. I'll say hello, drink tea, and leave."
"Yes, ma'am," he said, smiling. "At least the tea will be good."
She shot him a flat look, but the corner of her mouth twitched.
"If it tastes like boiled disappointment, I'm blaming you."
"Noted," he grinned.
They turned a corner, towards the elevator. She took a breath, rolled her shoulders once, and stepped forward.
Just ten minutes.